


Indestructible Iron

by The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Civil War? What Civil War?, Disabled Character, F/M, Gen, Internalised ableism, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Permanent Injury, Possible OT6, Team as Family, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, but only if you squint really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting/pseuds/The_Girl_Who_Got_Tired_of_Waiting
Summary: Afghanistan is pain. That goes without saying, really. Constant, unending pain. From his chest, his body, from inside his own brain. It's a relief – sweet, blissful relief – when Tony wakes to find a whole section of his body not hurting anymore... Until it dawns on him that this isn't normal.---In Afghanistan, Tony is injured far worse than anyone understands. He hides the true extent of his injuries from everyone.That was never going to end well.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a Kink Meme prompt which asked for Tony being injured in Afghanistan to the point where he completely looses the use of his legs. He hides this from everyone, builds the suit to act as an exoskeleton and never takes it off. He hides his injuries from everyone and tries to carry on life as normal. 
> 
> Warnings for disability/serious injury (the actual violence/injury is not graphically described but it is obviously implied). Ableism and internalized ableism. Tony is basically one giant ball of denial and self loathing.

Afghanistan is pain. That goes without saying, really. Constant, unending pain. From his chest, his body, from inside his own brain. It's a relief – sweet, blissful relief – when Tony wakes to find a whole section of his body not hurting anymore. He could laugh with relief in fact. Maybe he does a little, hysterical with it. Until it dawns on him that this isn't normal. Last he'd remembered, they'd been working him over with a metal pipe, changing it up a little from the water (which was another twisted relief in itself) or from just leaving the shrapnel in his heart to do its job. He had been in so much agony. He still is, above his waist. But below his waist... Now Tony feels nothing. He's fairly sure that's not normal.

Then someone yells at him in broken English, telling him to move, and he tries. And he can't. They yell again and kick at him. And he doesn't feel it.

That causes some excitement in the cave. Some momentary panic. Then they decide it doesn't matter. Just like he can live with a jazzed up car battery for life support, he doesn't need to be able to walk to do what they need.

In the end, he doesn't need to be able to walk to kill them all either.

\---

The arc reactor is, in its way, beautiful. It's beautiful because it's genius, a medical and scientific wonder. More than that, though, it is beautiful because it's a distraction. The doctors come and they are so busy trying to work out how Tony can still be living with a giant hole in his chest that they don't stop to test much else. It's only later that a doctor checks his responses, more as an afterthought.

_Can you feel this, Tony? What about this? This? Tony? Tony?_

Tony wants to lie. He wants to say yes he can feel just fine but even if he does he won't be able to prove it. He won't be able to tell if it's hot or cold, whether they're stabbing him with pins or tickling him. He won't be able to twitch muscles on command.

_No._

And Rhodey... (for fuck’s sake, Rhodey's there. Why couldn't Tony be alone for this latest embarrassment?) Rhodey looks devastated. Rhodey shouldn’t be devastated. That expression doesn’t belong on his face, not now, not because of Tony. Rhodey can mask things. It’s something he and Tony have in common. But apparently he can't mask this.

So Tony masks it for him.

\---

They operate to stabilise Tony’s spine. Tony discharges himself when he realises stabilise it is all they can do.

\---

So Rhodey knows. And Pepper knows because, of course she does. She’s the sort of person Tony has needed all his life and yes, of course she knows. If she hadn’t seen him like that with her own eyes, or if no one had said anything to her, she still would have figured it out. Probably.

Obie knows. Because Tony tells him. Why? Why, why, why, of all the people he could have told, why does he pick Obie? (Because Obie has been like a second father to Tony, has been more of a dad than his biological father ever was. How was Tony supposed to know he was also a lying, traitorous bastard?)

Lesson learnt. Don’t trust anyone. Not with this. Not with anything they can use to destroy you.

\---

If the reactor is beautiful as a distraction, the suit is beautiful full stop. The first few models had room for improvement, but they were still beautiful. A few models down the line and it’s perfection. All sleek lines and metallic sheen. Red and gold, with a spotlight in the centre of his chest to proclaim to the world, ‘Here I am. Tony Stark. Alive and kicking ass and hard as iron to the core.’

The suit encases his useless legs and holds him upright. Hard-wired into Jarvis, Tony just has to say where he wants to be and it takes him there. Without the rest of the suit attached, all he has to do is press a few buttons in the side panel of one thigh and it will walk for him until he presses stop.

Tony will adapt the exoskeleton technology, modify it so it looks different enough to not arouse suspicion.

“I got the idea from my suit,” he’ll say, at the press conference where he is announcing a breakthrough in the world of paraplegic treatment. He doesn’t say that his idea was the suit. It started and ended with the suit.

\---

He wears the suit, or at least the legs, twenty four seven, at first. He wears them in public and he wears them in private, when he’s at press conferences and board meetings and when he’s completely on his own. He wears those legs like skin. Even when he’s asleep.

It wreaks havoc on his back. The arc reactor pressing on it from the front was bad enough. Now he’s being held artificially rigid every hour of the day and the pain spreads from the lowest part Tony can feel, right the way up to scrunch between shaking shoulders. Tony would kill for a massage. But he won’t let anyone near him.

Beneath the metal, he knows his hips are bruised. His legs are covered in abrasions he can’t feel, but which he knows are there. He didn’t bother to smooth off the inside of the suit.

Rhodey comes to visits and finds him trying to sleep in the bottom half of the suit. Tony’s in so much pain he can’t even leave the bed. He expects Rhodey to be angry, the same way Pepper always is when Tony’s not been taking care of himself. But he doesn’t get angry. He gets that same, awful, devastated look again. It only lasts for a few seconds and then his face becomes set, resolute as he ignores Tony’s protests and activates the release for the suit. He takes one look at Tony’s legs and sucks in his breath through gritted teeth. He grabs Tony by his shoulders and forces him to sit up. Then he grabs Tony’s head between his hands and makes him look. Tony hasn’t looked at his legs since he built the suit.

The bruises are so deep they’re black in places. He’s cut, and some of the cuts are becoming infected, if the colour and the smell are anything to go by.

Tony can’t feel a damn thing.

Rhodey doesn’t lecture. He doesn’t have to. Tony knows when he’s screwed up. Again. He doesn’t complain as Rhodey carries him to the bathroom, as Rhodey cleans and dresses his wounds and applies cream to the deepest of the bruises. Before he leaves to get food – which is something else Tony has been neglecting to do recently – he makes Tony promise he won’t let this happen again.

So Tony concedes to take the suit off. Just never so anyone else will find out. He still wears it in public. If he has a meeting he’ll either turn up in the suit, or arrive early and get himself seated before anyone else gets there. He waits until they’ve left, then reattaches the suit’s legs and walks out of there.

\---

His doctor wants him to see a physiotherapist. Tony doesn’t go to the first appointment. What’s the point? No amount of stretching and building up strength in his upper body is going to make his lower body right. They can push and pull his legs around, they can massage them to help with circulation, or they could break them a thousand times over, or cut them off completely. It’s not going to make any difference. Tony’s broken and that’s how he’s going to stay.

His doctor recommends a psychiatrist and he allows this, more to get Pepper off his case than anything else. The psychiatrist comes to Tony’s home and it’s actually okay, at first.

_And how are you adjusting now, Tony?_

He’s adjusting great, just fine. He’s back home now and yeah it’s going to take a while for his brain to realise he’s no longer dying, but he’s adjusting to being back home again fine.

_That’s not what I meant. How are you adjusting to being_

Adjusting to being Ironman is no adjustment at all. He’s gone from weapons creator to superhero for God’s sake. That’s one hell of a leap for the average man, but all in a day’s work for Tony Stark.

_Tony. How are you adjusting now that your body... now that you’re..._

_I think that will be all for today’s session, doc. Nice talking to you. Pepper will show you out._

\----

He pays the doctors who treated him. Pays them large sums of money and gets them to sign contracts on top of contracts. They go along with it and accept the money and sign. Then Tony hacks into medical files and wipes any mention of his injuries, other than his heart. Just to make sure.

He tries to pay off the psychiatrist too. She sends his cheques back. He tries again. She sends his blank cheques back. He sets up a trust fund for her kids to go to college and she accepts that but probably only because you can’t send a fucking trust fund back in the post.

Eventually she stops trying to arrange another appointment.

She sends him the notes she took in that first and only appointment. Tony burns them without even reading them.

Tony doesn’t talk to a professional again. He’ll talk to Rhodey, or to Pepper, if he feels the urge to talk (he doesn’t, not about this). Later, he’ll talk to Bruce. He’s not that kind of a doctor but he is a good listener and he’s kind and intelligent and wonderful. Tony talks to Bruce about science and engineering and theories well beyond the grasp of most. Sometimes, when Tony’s sleep deprived or drunk, or maybe even a little bit high one time, he’ll even tell Bruce about the big stuff. About torture, and water that still scares him silly and space and nightmares and crappy childhoods. Bruce listens and nods and doesn’t press for anything further because, what else could there possibly be for Tony to divulge?

Everything.

And Tony’s sure he will never be wasted enough to talk about that.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony doesn’t need a therapist to tell him about the five stages of grief, or tell him how they can also be relevant in his situation. He knows them all intimately and cycles through them, sometimes several times a day. 

Denial is the sweetest and most familiar of them all. Tony wraps it around himself like an old, well worn blanket. 

Bargaining is essentially what he’s doing with the suit. His own legs won’t work so he makes the next best thing, creates a half way house which is the closest alternative he can have. He’s also bargaining with his past. If he can do enough good as Iron Man, if he can invent enough technology that can help people’s lives instead of destroying them, maybe he’ll be able to have some kind of worthwhile life again.

Tony has every right to be angry and sometimes he lets that take over. He’s angry at everything, at the world, and everyone in it. Angry at his own body for failing him. He’s even angry at Pepper and Rhodey. They help him keep up his charade, but they never look happy about it and Tony can’t seem to make them understand that this is the only way he can exist anymore. They act like this doesn’t change anything and he wants to scream at them. He wants to fight and lash out at anyone and everyone, at the sheer injustice of it all. He can’t do that, so he lashes out at himself instead. Mostly, he does in internally, mentally beating and berating himself at his own uselessness and stupidity for not being able to fix this.

Occasionally he allows the anger to manifest physically. He punches his legs and then does it harder because it makes no difference. Sometimes he does worse. Then when he patches himself up afterwards, he’s only ever angrier at himself. 

Depression usually follows hot on anger’s heels, then. It’s the one Tony ever allows himself to sink into in private. More so than anger. He even tries to hide it from himself, that he’s depressed. But at the same time, how can he not be, after everything he’s lost? 

Tony only accepts that this is his life now because he has tried, and eliminated, the possibility that he can change things. He can’t. He’s stuck. For better or for worse. 

\---

 

Tony misses sex. Sometimes he misses it more than walking, or running, or having control of his own bladder. He hates himself for thinking that. How superficial is he? 

But it’s true. Sex was something he had enjoyed. It was something people had regularly and reliably told him he was good at. You don’t exactly enjoy having the ability to piss. Not until it’s gone. Nobody ever says you’re good at walking. 

Sex had been part of who Tony was, and for so long too – he didn’t get the ‘playboy’ part of his ‘billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ persona for nothing. And now, suddenly, it’s not. He still desires, still wants, still feels how he used to before. But the actual sex option is now off the table permanently. 

Mostly, he hates not being able to have sex because of Pepper. Not because he wants to have sex with her (he does, that goes without saying) but because if he could, then maybe she wouldn’t have left him. 

She says that’s not the reason, that it has nothing to do with it. It makes her even madder and shouts even louder when Tony suggests it. 

“Do you really think so little of me? How can you even say that, Tony?”

Because it’s true, he thinks. And he doesn’t blame her for it. How can she, how can anyone, want to be with him now? He’d be asking her to be with someone who not only can’t walk, not only doesn’t have control over his own bodily functions, but can’t have sex either. And he knows that’s completely undermining every couple, every person who, for whatever reason, doesn’t want to or chooses not to have sex. But that’s exactly the point. It’s a choice. 

But not for Tony. And not for Pepper either if she carries on being his girlfriend. 

He says words to that effect. Only they obviously don’t come out right because she doesn’t get any calmer. 

“Tony,” she says in a voice that is half yell, half exasperated snarl. “Listen to me. I am not breaking up with you because you can’t have sex. I am breaking up with you because you can’t admit, not to me, not to yourself, not to anyone, you can’t admit that-”

“Jarvis, turn the music up.” Tony spins his lab chair back to face the other way and ignores her as the music cranks even louder, ACDC soundtracking the end of his and Pepper’s relationship. Naturally. 

Pepper shouts even louder. Tony folds in on himself and puts his fingers in his ears to block her out. Pepper bends down, removes the ludicrously expensive shoes Tony had bought for her as an apology for their last argument, and hurls them with not inconsiderable force at Tony. Then she storms out, barefoot. One shoe sails straight past Tony and smashes a computer screen. The other hits low on Tony’s back and bounces off to land on the floor, the heel snapping. Tony doesn’t even realise. He stays bent over, fingers stuck in his ears and music blasting, long after Pepper has left. He sobs hot tears that are born out of anger and regret and the end of the best thing he’d ever had. 

Pepper comes back, of course, to run Tony’s company and be his best friend besides. But that’s as far as it goes now. As far as it will ever go. She finds him in his lab that evening. The music has stopped and he’s taken his fingers out of his ears. He’s stopped crying, thank God-that-he-doesn’t-believe-in. 

She apologises for some of the things she said, but not for the part about breaking up with him. That part she meant, apparently. She also apologises for throwing the shoes and breaking the computer screen.

“Don’t worry about it, Pep. It’s not like I can’t buy another.” 

She apologises especially for throwing the other shoe at his back. Tony hadn’t even been aware that the shoe had hit him until that moment, so he doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“Come on,” says Pepper, walking towards him. “Take your shirt off and turn round. I want to check I didn’t do any permanent damage.”

Tony just raises one eyebrow at her. Realising exactly what she just said, Pepper gasps and looks mortified. 

“I’m so sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean... I meant... bruising. I want to check for bruising.” 

Tony turns his back to her once again, yanks his top up and bends over the workbench in front of him. Pepper checks the lower part of his back with slow, sweeping movements of her fingertips which would have previously had Tony shivering and purring. Not anymore. 

“What’s the verdict, nurse Pepper?” Tony asks, after a long time of what to him feels like nothing. “Will I live?”

“You’re fine.” She hesitates, close enough now that Tony can feel her breath on his neck. For a moment, it’s like she’s considering bending to kiss his permanently-numb back, where her shoe made contact. Tony yanks his shirt down, hard, before she gets the chance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this time but hopefully with some longer ones to follow soon.

Tony is used to the fact that some people just can’t bring themselves to look at the arc reactor. He makes jokes about it being because they’re dazzled by his genius, or just plain dazzled by the light of the reactor. But he knows the real reason. It is gross, to have a hole in the middle of your chest, even if you have shoved a stopper in it. He doesn’t blame them for not looking, not when it’s a woman he meets in the street, or a man he gets chatting to at a conference. It bothers him more when it’s someone he once considered as a friend, or someone he’s worked alongside for years.

 

They still look him in the eye, mostly. They look everywhere but at his chest.

 

It bothers Tony far more when people do nothing but look at his chest.

 

“See something you like?”

 

He’s in a meeting with majority share holders and board members and he can’t for the life of him remember who the guy in brown suit is, but he’s been staring at Tony’s chest since he sat down. Seriously. He’s ogling Tony’s chest the way Tony himself had once ogled female interns, and waitresses, and hey, pretty much any woman who crossed his path.

 

“I’m fairly sure I don’t have the most impressive tits in the room, but hey, whatever floats your boat.”

 

There’s a smattering of laughter at Tony’s words. Pepper, sitting beside him, coughs delicately to hide her own giggle. Brown Suit just sneers at him.

 

“You put a spotlight in the middle of your chest and you expect people not to stare at it? It’s disgusting, Stark. Can’t you cover it up?”

 

Nobody laughs at that. Tony just blinks, like he has no idea what this man is talking about. He makes a big pretence of looking down at himself, miming noticing the light emitting from inside his shirt.

 

“You mean this? Is this bothering you?”

 

People are starting to shift awkwardly. A few of them are murmuring to each other. Pepper clears her throat properly this time.

 

“If we could go back to this year’s stock figures,” she says, in a valiant effort to divert attention away from Tony. Only Tony’s never been one to shy away from being the centre of attention.

 

Tony stands, grateful beyond measure that today he chose to arrive late and hence he is still wearing the metallic legs of the suit. He stands and calmly, deliberately, takes his shirt off over his head, and throws it in Brown Suit’s face.

 

“What about now? Is this bothering you?” Tony turns slowly letting the whole room take in the sight of his scarred, messed up chest, his back, then turns to face the front again. “Is this in any way making you feel uncomfortable?”

 

Brown Suit stands too and for a half a second Tony’s ready to fight him. He doesn’t have to though.

 

“You’re insane, Stark,” he hisses, his parting shot on the way out. Nobody follows him.

 

Tony just shrugs, as though genuinely puzzled as to what he could have done to produce such an outburst. He sits back down again.

 

“Don’t know what his problem was. Now, where were we?”

 

“Stock figures,” supplies Pepper. She’s smiling, although she’s trying not to let it show. She glances at Tony out of the corner of her eye and Tony grins wider. She might not be his girlfriend anymore, and his chest is still ugly as hell, but Pepper can look, if she wants.

 

Tony sits through the rest of the meeting, still shirtless.

 

* * *

 

 

Someone in the room must have taken a photo because by the time Tony gets home that night, it’s already gone viral. It’s not got quite as many hits as some of the other footage of him out there – at least he has some clothes on in this one – but it’s there none the less. Retweeted and reblogged, shared, liked, reacted to and commented on and already turned into a meme, and seen by thousands of people.

 

At first, Tony doesn’t want to look. Not because he’s scared, or self conscious, or any other nonsense like that. He simply doesn’t want to. He’s well aware of what he must look like. He doesn’t want to see it from someone else’s point of view too. But less than an hour later, like the dumbass in a horror film who hears the creepy noises coming from the basement and still goes down there, Tony looks anyway.

 

It’s not exactly hard to find. It’s being featured by at least two fairly major news websites at this point. Tony loads up the picture, and stares. Then stares some more.

 

It’s not exactly the best photograph in the world. It’s lopsided, taken at a funny angle as whoever took it held the phone covertly. It’s blurred a little, where the light form the arc reactor flares. But that’s not important. It’s how Tony looks in the picture that’s important. Isn’t it always?

 

Tony thought we would look weak and damaged, petulantly shirtless just to piss off some member of his own board of directors. He doesn’t look like that at all. Scarred, yes, there’s no getting away from that. But he doesn’t look weak for it. He’s looking away from the camera, grinning at something someone (possibly Pepper) has just said. He’s got one hand in his hair, pushing it back as his other hand holds his StarkPad, ready to take notes. Not that he had been taking notes, he’d been doodling sketches for the next Iron Man suit, but that’s how it looks in the picture.

 

Tony doesn’t look weak. He looks strong.

 

He reposts the picture through his own Instagram account, without comment and watches as his alerts light up, as the same people who have been looking at the picture all day comment back at him again and again. He doesn’t read their responses. Doesn’t have to. He saves the picture as his new background, just for good measure.

 

He is a narcissist, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

As far as distractions go, the palladium is about as beautiful as the arc reactor itself. He’s under observation from SHIELD, from Natasha specifically. If he’d have known that, or been able to fully comprehend it in any way, he would have put on even more of a pretence than usual. He would have found a way to be without the suit in public. Or else, he would have reverted back to wearing it at all times, every second of every day.

 

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to. As Tony had already discovered, it’s amazing what even the most observant people will overlook when you’re actively in the process of dying.

 

Tony survives the palladium poisoning, somehow. He shouldn’t. It should have killed him. But then, Tony should be dead a hundred times over by this point, so what’s one more to add to the list?

 

He’s not deemed worthy of the Avengers Initiative and is assigned as a consultant instead. It’s probably for the best, in the long run. Being an Avenger would just mean all the more opportunities for someone to find out what Tony’s hiding. And what’s the point in having a team of superheroes if one of them is already broken?

 

He winds up an Avenger anyway. Tony’s still trying to figure out how that one happened.

 

* * *

 

Flying nearly makes up for everything Tony’s lost. When he’s flying he’s the exact opposite of constricted and trapped and held back and everything he feels every day since Afghanistan. When he’s flying, he’s freer than he ever could have hoped to be on the ground. When he’s flying, he wishes it could never end. He would fly always, if he could.

 

So when he realises that he’s going to be taking the nuke on a one way trip into space, he can’t bring himself to be all that sad about it. It’s going to be the longest flight of his life. It does suck that it has to be now, when he’s just found a team he actually wants to be a part of, but that can’t be helped. They’ll still be a team without him. They don’t need him. The world doesn’t need him, not with a shiny new band of whole, perfectly functioning superheroes. They’ll mourn for him. Say prayers over him and attend a funeral when there’s no body to bury. Maybe they’ll build a statue in Central Park in his honour, and if they do, Tony just hopes it’s of him in his suit, him when he’s flying.

 

When he survives, again, Tony is maybe just a tiny bit disappointed. But mostly because, as ways to die go, flying a nuke into space would have been really fucking cool.

 

* * *

 

Tony invites the rest of the team to move into the tower in a moment of stupid, post-battle camaraderie. They all agree to spend the night, too exhausted to do anything else, so Tony shows them to the only guest rooms that haven’t been destroyed by the battle. The elevators are out so they have no choice but to take the stairs. They climb mostly in silence, too worn out to chat.

 

(Tony hadn’t even wanted to have stairs in his tower. What was the point, when he could afford to have elevators to every floor? Who was going to opt for several thousand steps over a nice, comfy, air conditioned ride in an elevator? When he can actually fly right up to the top of his tower? Pepper wouldn’t hear of it, had insisted it was a major health and safety issue. Now, Tony has to concede she maybe had a point, but how was he supposed to know aliens, actual goddamn _aliens_ , were going to take out half his home?)

 

Tony keeps flagging behind. The suit’s pretty much fucked after the battle and his little crash landing. He’d stripped off the top half as soon as he could. Now the legs are hardly running at full power. They’re making ominous hissing, clicking noises and every so often they’ll spark a little, just to keep Tony on his toes. He’s also acutely aware of the way the arc reactor is digging into his sternum more than usual, the way he feels it on every in breath. It needs adjusting.

 

The legs spark again and Tony stops, trying to fix them simply by glaring at them. This is just embarrassing. There’s a small noise above him and Tony looks up. Captain America – Steve – has stopped too and is looking at Tony with not undue confusion. Tony grins and takes the few steps up to meet him. Then one more, just to even out the height difference.

 

“What’s up, Cap?” he asks, doing his best to affect an air of casual indifference.

 

“Why don’t you take it off?” Steve is frowning at him in what could be concern but what is most likely frustration at Tony’s stubbornness. Tony waves one hand in a dismissing gesture.

 

“No can do,” he says, lightly. “Can’t be Iron Man without the suit.” The suit itself chooses that exact moment to crackle and spark again, one of the power cells going out. Tony doesn’t so much stagger as his whole body starts to fall, the suit’s legs buckling. Steve starts forward in alarm one hand going out to catch him. Tony reels backwards to stop himself against the wall and punches the side of one metal encased leg. By pure luck, the power cell fizzes back to life. Tony grins again.

 

_See_ , he thinks. _I’ve got this._

 

He uses the regained power to back up a few steps away from Captain America’s still outstretched arm.

 

Steve’s frowning again.

 

“Battle’s over,” he says, as calmly as he can. “You don’t have to be Iron Man; you could just be Tony Stark now.”

 

Tony laughs a little then.

 

“Shows what you know,” he responds, maybe a little childishly. “There can’t be any Tony Stark without Iron Man.” He turns and strides up the stairs after the others, willing the suit not to give out on him again.

 

Behind him, Steve makes a noise of frustration – yep, definitely frustration this time – and follows after him.

 

It’s only later that Tony realises, maybe that was Steve’s attempt to start building bridges. If so, Tony had trampled all over them.

 

* * *

 

 There aren’t enough guest rooms left intact; Clint and Natasha have to share, but they don’t seem too bothered about that. Tony can’t decide whether they’re actually together, or if they’re just really close. Tony’s not exactly the best at judging relationships.

 

Bruce keeps mumbling about how he doesn’t need to take up a guest room; he’d be just as happy sleeping on a couch. Tony points out that the best couch, along with the best part of the living room, is now lying in splinters on the streets below, partly courtesy of a hulk-propelled God. He means it as a joke but Bruce looks mortified, going bright red as he keeps stammering apologies. By way of his own apology, and just to be contrary, Tony assigns him to the most luxurious guest room left.

 

Once everyone is settled, Tony staggers on up to his own suite.

 

* * *

 

Tony should collapse in bed as soon as he gets to his room. He wants to. Nothing would please him more than just crawling – actually crawling, the suit gives up for good almost as soon as Tony reaches his own floor – into bed and not emerging for at least a day or two. But he can’t. He has to fix the reactor first. It’ll need a proper service tomorrow, down in Tony’s workshop, but there’s no way in hell he’s going back down there tonight. For now he has to make do with the tools he has in his rooms. He can do just enough to stop it from scraping against his sternum with every in breath, and assure himself that it’s unlikely to fail during the night.

 

He sends messages to Pepper, making plans for the inevitable press meetings, making sure that provisions are already in place for Stark Industries to provide financial and physical aid to those effected, and to the clean-up effort. Pepper’s reply is simple.

 

_Go to bed, Tony. We’ll talk in the morning._

 

Tony does go to bed then, but not before he gives Jarvis instructions to have the previous version of the suit ready and waiting for when he wakes up. The AI assures him that he will operate the suit to walk itself to his bedroom, and Tony momentarily allows himself to be amused with the idea of one of his suits walking freely through the wrecked corridors of his tower. It would be an alarming image, to say the least, if anyone were to happen across it. Tony resists the urge to send it to Steve’s room en route, as tempting as that would be.

 

The process of getting ready for bed is not an easy one for someone who is paralysed. Even such simple acts as going to the toilet or getting changed are not straight forward. It is pure muscle memory and force of habit that gets Tony through these steps now. When, eventually, he lays his head on the pillow, he expects himself to pass out instantly. It doesn’t happen. He stays awake for a very, very long time, thinking. He is trying desperately hard to not think about certain aspects of the day, about space, about missiles, about the fact he nearly died, again. He tries to compartmentalise, to shove all of that information to the back of his mind. It works, more or less. The battle still plays through his mind in blurred snippets.

 

When he is not thinking about that, he is just... thinking. About the upgrades needed for the new suit. About the arrangements he started to make with Pepper. About the newly formed Avengers, currently sleeping a few floors below him. When he closes his eyes he fancies, half dreaming now, that he can see their sleeping forms through the floor, showing up like thermal imaging. He thinks about the team he is a part of, but which he knows nothing about. He thinks about how he has invited them to stay in the tower, not just tonight, but permanently. A whole group of people in his tower, in his home, when he had tried for so long to keep himself isolated from everyone. It was better that way. Fewer people for him to irritate and annoy, fewer people to get hurt or who could hurt him. Far, far fewer chances for people to find out about the suit, about the real reason he never takes it off.

 

It would be better, Tony decides, if the others decided not to stay. Or if he revoked his invitation. He knows he won’t do that, but it would be easier that way. Now all he can do is think about all the ways in which this could go wrong.

 

The sun has been up for an hour or more before Tony finally falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Bruce is the only one to stay outright at first. The others all have things they need to do, places they need to be. Hellicarrier, or what's left of it.  Soul searching on the road. Another planet with a homicidal brother in tow. Same old same old.

But Bruce stays, which is unexpected but not at all unwelcome. Maybe he's tired of running. Or maybe he figures there's no point in it anymore, not now he knows that at least one of the groups chasing him never actually lost him. Or maybe Tony's charming personality wins him over. Yeah. Right.

Tony's thrilled. He likes Bruce, more than he should after only knowing him for a couple of days. It's not just that Bruce is smart enough to keep up with him. The thing is, Bruce's personality really is charming. He doesn’t rub his genius in people's faces like Tony does.  He's shy and nervous on surface level and most of the time tries to draw as little attention to himself as possible which is quite some feat for a man who has a green rage monster for an alter ego.  But underneath that, he's loyal and gentle and kind and generous to a fault; he's spent years using his genius to help people and often refusing to take payment, beyond a safe place to sleep for a night. He gets all of Tony's geeky little references and has some of the best dry wit Tony's ever encountered. Bruce is damaged in ways Tony understands.

Tony Skypes Pepper, so that she can reassure herself that he's still alive and so that he can hear the sound of her voice. She smiles, softly, as he tells her about his new housemate.

"Sounds like someone's got a little crush," says Pepper, in way that manages to be gentle and teasing at the same time.

"You're just jealous I saw him first," Tony quips in response.

But truthfully, Pepper might have a point. Tony could probably have a little bit of a crush on all of his new teammates, for various reasons. Even Steve.

It's not like he'd ever do anything about it.

* * *

Bruce helps Tony look over the new plans for the tower. Tony likes to think of it more as repairing and redecorating than redesigning but most decorating doesn't involve repurposing five whole floors and adding a brand new gym complete with reinforced punching bags and a state of the art range, just on the off chance certain people might decide to swing by and use them sometime soon. Tony's getting ahead of himself, building a house of wonders for people who may or may not show at all.

Bruce doesn't point that out so he either thinks Tony is a lost cause, or he agrees that the rest of the team will follow.  He also doesn't comment on his own floor and the hulk proof playroom which is definitely not a cage. Which means both that he approves and that he's sticking around. He may not say that out loud, but it's all there in the subtext. He just smiles, and readjusts his glasses, and goes back to helping Tony figure out how to stop the electrics on Thor's floor from overloading and what colour to paint Natasha's room (not pink).

"What's with all the shower seats?" Bruce asks. He's looking over Tony's shoulder at a plan of the top floors of the tower. Tony's sat at a bench in the lab and has been sat there for the last few hours. He'll be sat there until Bruce leaves so that he can reattach the suit's legs. But he's not so bothered. In fact he's so engrossed in the plans that he doesn't even register Bruce's question at first and has to ask him to repeat.

"The seats," Bruce prompts.  "In all the showers. All the guest rooms have them. I was just wondering why."

Tony feels something inside of him freeze for just a moment. He knows exactly what Bruce is talking about now. The tiled benches built into every shower unit in the place had, of course, been built on Tony’s orders. Water and mechanical legs don’t mix, and Tony and baths don’t mix. Not since Afghanistan. So Tony needs to be able to sit while he’s in the shower. True, he could have kept benches purely in his own personal shower but he’s not sure if that would arouse less suspicion or more. And he’ll be damned if there’s a single thing in his own home that he can’t use if he so wished.

He relays absolutely none of this to Bruce. Instead he just shrugs and replies with a grin. “Hangover seats. You don’t drink, so you might not get this, but believe me when I say those seats are a freaking God send the morning after. Also,” he adds, because the opportunity is too good and he can’t resist, “they come in really handy for shower sex. Let me know if you ever want a demonstration of that.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, not only because it’s exactly this kind of overly flirty talk that could easily drive people away from Tony. Tony has no way of following through on that offer, even if Bruce said yes.

Bruce doesn’t say yes. He goes slightly pink and readjusts his glasses before changing the subject.

* * *

Clint is the next one to take Tony up on his offer of a permanent home in the tower. He turns up after less than a month, dragging two overflowing bags of clothing and personal items with him and muttering darkly about how he can’t stand to be on the Helicarrier a second longer. He tosses his bags into his room, unhooks his bow from his shoulder, and asks Tony if there’s somewhere he can go shoot. Tony directs him to the newly installed shooting range and Clint disappears there for the rest of the day.

He emerges that evening in a far better mood. He unwinds still further over dinner and tells a story about Natasha’s first day training at SHIELD, which makes Tony laugh so hard he nearly chokes.

Natasha herself, unsurprisingly, moves in two days later. She arrives at the same time as the truck delivering her new bed does. Almost as though she’d planned it which, Tony reminds himself, she probably did. Tony follows her up to the her room and watches as she intimidates the delivery men into putting up the bed and moving it three different times until she decides it is in the right place. She has brought with her just one compact bag of clothing and a small cardboard box of personal belongings.

“I’m starting to regret giving you the walk in closet,” Tony says, watching as Natasha unzips her bag and pulls out a stack of neatly folded underwear. She doesn’t fuss about Tony seeing her bras, anymore than him seeing her pyjamas or her jeans.

“Why did you give it to me?” she asks, placing the underwear in a drawer. “Because that’s what every girl wants?” She turns back to the bed to collect another pile of clothing and Tony can see she is amused, not offended. Which is good because, as Tony reminds himself, if she was offended he’d probably be choking right now. 

“Nah, I just figured you’d have a lot of clothes.” Natasha looks still further amused. “Not because you’re a woman. I just figured, with all those missions you go on where you have to blend in or look the part or whatever, you’d have a lot of clothes. And jewellery. And weapons, actually. Clint brought his bow.”

“The clothes I loan from SHIELD.” Tony momentarily has an image of a warehouse somewhere filled just with the various costumes one might require while on a mission for SHIELD. Everything from plain uniform to shimmery ball gowns and jewellery.  “Same with the weapons, mostly.”

“What, you never feel like you need something to defend yourself with on your downtime? I mean, like right now. You’re alone with a man you hardly know. Anything could happen.”

Natasha pauses in her unpacking and folds her arms, copying Tony’s pose of casual ease right down to his smirk. “Are you flirting with me, or threatening me?”

“I am sure either option would have disastrous consequences.”

“More than you realise. I don’t need fancy weapons.  There are...” she hesitates for a second to scan the room, “thirty one different objects in this room that I could use to kill you, if I wanted. Thirty two if you count me.”

“Thirty three if you hack the suit.”

“Thirty four if I rip it off and use it to beat you to death.”

And then they both laugh. It’s the first time Tony’s heard Natasha laugh properly, freely. It splits the cold mask and makes her appear years younger, almost like a little kid. If little kids laughed at the idea of beating someone to death. Tony feels like he’s just passed a test he didn’t know he was taking.

“I don’t believe in having... stuff,” Natasha continues after a bit, resuming shifting clothes from her bag to the closet. “Anything that would weigh me down if I had to leave in a hurry. Everything I need is in the bag or that box.”

Tony goes to the box in question, figuring he might as well help unpack instead of just standing around watching. He reaches past a couple of books and a wash bag and pulls out a fuzzy, blue stuffed rabbit. He’s so startled he just holds it by one ear and waits for Natasha to turn around.

“Clint won it for me,” she explains with barely a glance in Tony’s direction. “At the fair, you know.” She mimes shooting a target. “I could have won it myself but, well, you’ve got to let a guy’s ego rest once in a while.” Tony just keeps staring at her and she starts to tense up again, on the defensive already. “I could have left it behind. It’s not like... I just... I don’t need it.” She spits out the last part, daring Tony to say otherwise.

Tony raises his free hand, placating. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to make you leave the bunny behind.” He places the toy down on Natasha’s pillow and gives it a little pat, then goes back to the box. He removes the books and takes them to bookcase in the living room. The one on top is written in Russian, with photographs of ballerinas in poses which make his spine ache just to look at. He takes his time arranging the books, few that they are, so that they don’t topple over, before returning to the bedroom. Natasha is just finishing up. She zips up the now empty bag and relegates it to the space under the bed.

“I suppose Clint already told you about my first day at SHIELD?” she asks, lightly. Tony grins.

“Hell yeah. It was one of the first things he did when he got here.”

Natasha shakes her head, smiling fondly. “The idiots deserved it. Clint just loves telling that story.” But then she frowns, looking at the rabbit still lying on the pillow. She picks it up by the paw and holds it in both her hands, close to her chest. “They blame him,” she says, suddenly. So suddenly that Tony’s lost.

“Who blames who for what?”

“The others at SHIELD... Not Fury or Hill or anyone that matters but the others, some of them... They blame Clint for what happened. They think he should have been able to stop it, fight off the mind control or something.”

Tony makes a disgusted noise in his throat. Natasha nods her agreement.

“They’re idiots, like I said.” She turns her frown, which is more of a glare really, onto Tony. “I’m just saying, that if you ever, ever say anything that even sounds like you’re blaming him, even just as a joke, I’ll...” she lets the rest of her sentence trail off, not needing to finish her threat. Instead she demonstrates on the rabbit, moving her hands violently near its neck.

“Whoa!” Tony raises his hands like he’s been shot at. “I wasn’t planning on it. I’m not that much of a dick. No need to take it out on Mr Snuggles.”

“Good.” Natasha holds the rabbit for another moment before laying it back on the bed. “And his name’s not Mr Snuggles.”

“Oh, so he has got a name then? What is it? Thumper? Bunny-hop?”

Natasha walks past Tony out of the bedroom and Tony follows after her, still suggesting names as he goes.

“Fluffly? Hawkeye The Second?  Hopsidoodle?”

“Hopsidoodle isn’t even a word, Tony.”

“So it’s Hopsidoodle?”

“It’s Phil,” Natasha says, with her back to him, so she can’t see her facial expression.

* * *

Steve takes a little longer to come calling. And he does call, literally. He rings Tony and asks, all formal and earnest, if the invitation to stay at the tower is still open. Tony is tempted, very tempted, to tell him that no, he dragged his heels too long and Tony’s rented his rooms out. But Steve sounds hesitant, which isn’t what Tony expected from Captain America of all people. He reminds himself that, minus the years on ice, the kid is barely mid twenties. Then Steve goes and plays his trump card. 

“I think we got off to a bad start, Tony,” he says. “And I’m sorry for that.” There’s a faint crackle on the line. Tony wonders if Steve is using a properly old fashioned, corded phone, wrapping his fingers in the coiled wire as he speaks. Or maybe he’s at a payphone, which also seems like something he would do, and which makes Tony shudder. Does the man not know what a breeding ground for bacteria those places are? Tony’s already mentally ordering Steve a new state of the art Stark Phone as Steve himself continues talking. “We could start over. I think we could be friends, and I’d like that. I really want to get to know you better. And the rest of the team, too. So, what do you say? Want to give me another chance?”

Tony takes a deep breath and then dives right in, not even letting himself hesitate to consider saying no. “Sure thing, Cap. The tower’s a great place for team bonding. Now, do you need a hand moving your stuff over? You can borrow Clint, if you like. He could do with the exercise.” Clint throws a cushion at Tony’s head.

It’s only later, after he’s hung up the phone, knowing that Steve will be over in a few hours, that he realised Steve actually apologised. And Tony still hadn’t. Now he doesn’t know how he’s ever going to find the right time to do so, doesn’t know how to make it sound sincere if he does.

* * *

Thor is off world as much as he is on it and when he is on Earth, he likes to visit his ‘Lady Jane’. But when he is in neither of those places, he calls the tower home. He follows Tony on the same grand tour of his apartment that Tony gave everyone, marvelling at all of the gadgets Tony points out as afterthoughts. He asks Tony to explain more, which is a mistake because everyone knows that, given the go ahead, Tony will talk about his inventions for hours. Thor lets him talk, seems genuinely fascinated. When they have completed a full lap of Thor’s rooms and are back at the elevator, he draws Tony close, so close that Tony’s not sure if he’s about to be kissed or not. Maybe it’s an Asgardian thing.  

Thor doesn’t kiss Tony, but he rests their foreheads together as he speaks. “Thank you, Anthony. Your home is as splendid as any palace in Asgard.”

“I-it’s your home too now,” Tony’s stammers, unused to being so very close to someone, unused to being thanked so sincerely. “And no one’s called me Anthony since I was like... four.”

Thor laughs, the sound vibrating in Tony’s skull. “You are too generous. And I look forward to sharing your home, Tony.”

So that’s it. The whole gang together under one roof like a big, dysfunctional  family unit. Tony wants to shove this in the face of everyone who ever said he couldn’t maintain relationships, couldn’t play well with others. But that ‘everyone’ would involve a not inconsiderable part of the team itself.

This isn’t to say Tony doesn’t still have second thoughts about this whole setup. He has third thoughts, fourth and fifth thoughts to go along with them. Secrets don’t really stay secret for long when you share your home with up to five other people, one of which is Natasha Romanov. Tony has secrets buried so deep that they’re practically in China.

But Tony’s been alone for too long. He gets to depend on the company far too quickly. And he knows that it’s just going to hurt more when everything inevitably comes crashing down. He just tries to enjoy the time he has before that happens, and try to delay that ending for as long as possible.

At first, Tony goes back to wearing the legs at all times when he ventures out of his penthouse, or his private workshop. It doesn’t exactly go without comment from the others but they mostly let it slide. 

Clint tells them about his hearing loss a couple of days after Steve moves in. Tony figures he was waiting for as many people as possible to be there to avoid having to repeat the same story.

“I have to wear hearing aids,” he says, concentrating very resolutely on the pizza in front of him as though any minute now a slice might dethatch itself and do a back flip into his lap. “They have my comms unit built in so I can hear just fine on missions. But they’ve been playing up. Ever since... since Loki...” he trails off and snatches a slice of the oh-so-fascinating pizza, taking a bite to save himself from having to finish that sentence.

“Maybe I hit you in the head too hard,” suggests Natasha, who is looking like this is in no way new information. Which it probably isn’t, to her.

“Or that sceptre messed with the frequency,” Tony suggests, holding his hand out across the table. “Let’s see them.”

Someone kicks Tony under the table. He doesn’t feel it – obviously – but he hears the muted clang as someone’s foot makes contact with the suit and sees the disapproving looks on his teammates’ faces.  Apparently, asking to see another guy’s hearing aids isn’t the done thing. Tony ignores them all, because Clint is the only one not glaring, and makes a small grabby motion with his hands.

“Come on, let me see. I can fix them .”

Clint hesitates for a moment or two more before wiping his hands clean on his jeans, reaching a hand up to his left ear, and removing the small aid from within it. He repeats the motion with his right ear and then tips both into Tony’s waiting palm. Tony inspects them with a frown.

“They let you loose in the field with something this primitive?” He snorts and stands up, his own pizza forgotten. “I can do way better than this. Can you manage without these?” he asks, somewhat as an afterthought. “For like... ten... twelve hours?”

Clint nods. “I can lip read.”

“Brilliant.” And with that, Tony disappears out of the room, still examining the hearing aids and muttering to himself about the incompetency of SHIELD.

He doesn’t emerge from his lab until late the next afternoon. He didn’t sleep and the pizza is the last solid thing he ate but he’s grinning all over his face when he tracks down Clint. He and Natasha are in the lounge, the one with the big TV and the squishy couches and cushions everywhere, which is fast becoming the group’s favourite room. They have the TV on, with the volume muted, and the subtitles on, so that Clint can watch TV and Natasha can read her book with minimal interruptions. Tony doesn’t bother with preamble, just sits himself down so that he’s blocking the screen and thrusts a slim black box out towards Clint, grinning all over his face.

“Here you go, Hawkeye. I couldn’t work with the old model; it didn’t deserve to be saved. So I just threw it out, hope you weren’t too attached. Anyway these new ones are ten times, no, scratch that, fifty times better, guarantee you.” Clint flips open the lid of the box and removes one of the new aids. Half the size of the previous ones, which had already been small enough for Clint to wear without the rest of the team noticing. Clint looks up and Tony, sceptically. “Just go with it,” Tony urges. “They’re compact. Portable. You should hardly be able to feel them once they’re in. They’ve got different settings. Turned up full you’ll have better hearing than even the good captain. Should be able to hear a pin drop three streets away. Well, maybe not quite, but you get my drift. Thought that might come in handy on stealth missions when you need to be sneaking around and listening out for your team, because I don’t particularly fancy ending up with an arrow in my back because you didn’t hear me coming and thought I was the enemy. The middle setting is just for everyday use. Still a hell of a lot more powerful than those things you were using before. There’s another setting which can just be tuned in to different frequencies, so you can pick up on enemy comms. All settings can be used with your regular comms system by the way. So your buddies are never more than a call away, in the battlefield or if you’re just getting lonely and want a cuddle. You know, providing we’re wearing ours. Aaaaaand you’re just looking at me like I’ve gone crazy so, you know what, just give them a go. Shove them in and see how they fly.”

Clint does just that. Hesitantly, as though sure this won’t work, he flips the tiny switch to the middle setting and places both ear pieces in. For a minute, he just sits there, staring blankly.

“Well?” he says, after a moment. “Somebody say something.”

Natasha leans forwards ever so slightly. “Clint?” she says, barely more than a whisper.

Clint jumps, actually jumps, and turns to look at her, face caught somewhere between a grin and unrestrained shock.

“I heard that,” he says. “I heard that and I heard your blanket move as you leant forwards and shit... I... Tony, these are fucking amazing. I haven’t been able to hear like this in years.” Then he laughs. And Natasha laughs too, which makes Clint laugh more, and makes Tony feel like he’s maybe intruding.

“Well, my work here is done.” Tony stands, rubbing at a knot between his shoulders as best as he can reach. “There’s a vat of coffee in the kitchen with my name on it. Literally. I designed that coffee maker. You can thank me for that later, too.” He starts to move away and Clint jumps, again.

“Geez, Stark! Is that what that thing sounds like?” he’s staring at the suit with a kind of wincing amusement. “How do the rest of you guys stand it?” he asks, turning to Natasha.

“You get used to it,” she says smoothly, pulling Clint into a hug that’s practically a headlock. She smiles at Tony over Clint’s head, which Clint himself misses completely, still whining about the noise of the suit.

Tony presses harder against the suit’s automatic button than usual, making it walk harder than normal as he retreats backwards so that he can watch as each new stomp of metal boot makes Clint wince and giggle more.

“Okay, clanking wonder. We get it. You’re Iron Man. Now take the damn suit off.”

“Kiss my shiny metal ass, Barton,” Tony says, good-naturedly, grinning too to mask the momentary panic. He leaves Natasha and Clint to it, and doesn’t see them again until dinner, when Clint’s still too busy marvelling at the new hearing aids to make any more jokes about Tony’s suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably one of my favourite chapters of the fic so far! And one of the longest. Hopefully more on the way soon!
> 
> Thanks, guys, for all the kudos and the comments! You're making me very happy. <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly sappy, mushy chapter, with just a hint of feels. Because I'm aware things are gonna start getting rough from here on out >.>

Tony does the best he can to make this living situation last as long as possible. He lets the team buy whatever they want to make the place feel like home; whatever it is, Tony will cover the cost. He orders pizza from that one pizza shop in Brooklyn that makes it almost exactly the way Steve remembers, and Indian food from a back street shop he’d never normally set foot in but which Bruce assures him makes it the authentic way. He gives the team complete access to every area of the tower, except for his own private suite, and his lab, and even then all they have to do is ask and he’ll more than likely let them in. He instigates team movie night, and team game night, and the nights in between still more often than not find the team hanging out together. He hides it all behind a carefully constructed mask of couldn’t-care-less arrogance and sarcasm.

One thing Tony never planned to do was to take the suit off around the team. He knew he was running the risk of them growing suspicious as to why the metal never left his skin but he would take suspicion over them knowing for certain any day.

And then he lets his guard slip.

He’s in the squishy-sofa-big-TV-hang-out room. He is completely on his own and his back really is killing him from the pressure of the suit so he’s taken the legs off, just for a while. He’s lying flat on one of the couches, something mindless on TV, trying to relax each vertebrae that he can when Steve walks in. Tony shouldn’t be surprised. Steve lives here, after all. But he was so convinced that Steve was busy, down in the gym. In the few seconds before either of them speaks, Tony takes in Steve’s appearance. He’s fresh from the shower, an old, comfortably-worn-looking pair of joggers and a faded t-shirt on. So the work out session is over, and has Tony really been lying here for that long? He must have drifted without meaning to.

Steve hesitates in the doorway. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asks. He raises the sketchbook he’s holding and adds, “The light is best in here at this time of the day.” 

And what’s Tony supposed to say? ‘No. Even though this is your home and I have been trying to make you all feel as comfortable as possible here’?  ‘This room is currently only big enough for one person’? ‘Sure but, the thing is, I can’t walk, so would you just give me a minute to reattach the legs and I’ll be out of your hair’?

“Sure,” says Tony, after a pause that is probably too long. “And you don’t need an excuse, Cap.”

So Steve flops down into an armchair and starts sketching. And Tony is trapped. With all his other choices taken away, Tony waits. He waits for Steve to get bored, or to finish his picture. He waits for the light to shift and for Steve to decide another room would be better after all. He waits for Steve to notice.

Steve does not leave. Apart from the movement of his pencil across the paper, he hardly moves. And, despite occasionally glancing Tony’s way as he scans the room for inspiration, he doesn’t seem to notice anything at all is wrong with Tony. The waiting for the inevitable is maddening. Tony almost wants to blurt it out, shout at Steve that yes, he has been lying in the same position since Steve arrived and yes, he will remain that way until he can get at the legs of his suit which are currently tucked oh so neatly away underneath the coffee table Steve is currently resting his feet upon. He’s just thankful that Steve doesn’t talk much when he’s drawing. If Tony had to attempt small talk right now, he is sure the truth would come tumbling out of his lips instead.

It takes a while for Tony to realise that Steve hasn’t noticed. He isn’t going to notice. And this is Steve. Steve the super soldier. Steve who is Captain America. So he can’t exactly put it down to him lacking in observation skills, either.

Eventually, with a sigh and a stretch, Steve places the sketchbook aside and stands.

“I’m going to see if Bruce is making a start on dinner. Give him a hand.” He smiles at Tony, which seems... weirdly affectionate to Tony and again he’s sure that now is the moment Steve is going to ask him about his legs. About the whole not moving thing. Instead, he just asks, “You coming?”

Tony waves him off. “In a bit,” he mumbles, gesturing at the TV. “Wanna see how this ends.”

Steve laughs, because Cake Boss is hardly edge of your seat viewing and Tony blushes, just slightly. He would be more embarrassed about saying something so stupid, but right now, he has bigger potential embarrassments on his mind. 

As soon as Steve leaves, Tony all but throws himself off the couch, reaching haphazardly for the suit.

“JARVIS,” he splutters, talking into the carpet because that’s how he landed and now he can’t move himself. “The suit...just...”

“Of course, sir.”

There’s a soft metallic click and seconds later, Tony’s legs bend underneath him, helping him up to a sitting position. His lower half is once again encased in metal. He takes several deep, steadying breaths, rubbing at the arc reactor out of nervous habit. _Steve didn’t know. He didn’t know._

“Sir?” asks the gentle, concerned voice of his AI. “Are you quite all right? Do you require assistance at all?”

“No!” Tony near shouts. A few more deep breaths. “Sorry, J. I mean, yeah I’m okay. No, I don’t need any assistance.”

_He didn’t know. He didn’t know._ Tony repeats it over and over again in his head to make it sink in. And then it does sink in. Tony has just lain here without the suit for what must be hours, with Captain freaking America in the same room as him and he is fine. No body found out. Nobody knows.

Maybe, just maybe, this could work out.

* * *

Next movie night, Tony puts his new plan into action. He turns up a good hour early and drapes himself over the same couch as before. He spends a long time shifting around, trying to find the comfiest, most natural position he can. He wraps a thick blanket around his waist, one which is really too warm for this time of year and he’s probably going to sweat the whole way though the film, but it will help to disguise his legs. It’s only when JARVIS informs him that Clint and Natasha are in the elevator that Tony stops fidgeting and hastily presses the release button for the suit. It folds away into a smart cube and rests up against the couch. Still within easy reach if Tony needs it, but out of the way for now.

Clint and Natasha share an armchair. It seems weird, to Tony, given that there are more than enough seats to go round, but they seem to enjoy each other’s closeness. Their limbs tangle together almost seamlessly.  Clint rests his head on Natasha’s shoulder and Tony still doesn’t know if they’re a couple or not. Maybe they’re too close even for that.

Nobody shares the couch with Tony. Not that first time. Everyone takes other seats and settles in to watch the movie, which is so bad it’s laughable. It’s a superhero movie, which no part of the Avengers team gave permission to, so the filmmakers have tried to create a band of superheroes as similar to them as possible, whilst avoiding a lawsuit, and rushed it through in the few short months since the battle of New York. They needn’t have worried about the lawsuit. The characters are so far removed from their true personalities that Tony and the others just laugh at their caricatured selves, at the terrible plot and worse acting. The one and only female of the group spends most of the film getting held hostage by various monsters and Natasha throws popcorn at the screen. The armour clad hero is seen running through the streets without his suit and Tony doesn’t even flinch.

Throughout the film, nobody passes comment on the fact that Tony isn’t wearing his suit. He leans forward at one point, reaching for another beer and teetering perilously close to falling clean off the couch before flopping back and asking Bruce to pass it his way instead. Bruce rolls his eyes at Tony’s laziness but slides a bottle across the coffee table all the same, smiling as he does so. Steve keeps throwing glances Tony’s way that make his skin itch. He would be panicked, sure he was being found out, if it wasn’t for the positive beam of happiness across Steve’s face every time he looks over. It’s only when the film is over, when everyone is half-heartedly clearing away some of the accumulated debris of snack packets and arguing over the next film to watch, that Steve perches on the edge of the coffee table, real close to Tony’s head and speaks to him quietly.

“I just want to say,” he starts, that same happy, hopeful grin in place as before, “that I’m really happy, we all are. We’re happy that we’ve finally gained your trust.”

“How’d you figure that one, Cap?” Tony asks, completely baffled.

Steve gestures to the red and gold box between them. “The suit,” he says. “You finally took it off around us. That’s...great. It’s amazing, actually.”

“Oh. Is it?”

“Are you kidding?” Clint laughs. Tony looks up to see the rest of the team watching him. Clint himself is halfway to the door with a popcorn bag in one hand, three empty bottles held deftly in the other. “We were starting to think it was permanently glued to you. Or that you were half android or something.” Natasha glares at Clint and he ducks, laughing, out of the room before she can do anything else. Natasha turns to Tony instead.

“What Clint means,” she stresses, “is that we’re honoured. All of us.”

“You have no reason to feel unsafe around us,” Thor adds, in a gentle rumble that passes for his indoor voice.

“You _can_ trust us,” says Bruce, softly.

Tony’s tongue feels stuck inside his mouth. He goes to speak once, twice, can’t find the words. It’s as though his vocal cords are paralysed now too.

The moment passes and the evening carries on as it was. The suit, and Tony’s apparent newly found trust are not mentioned again. It’s not exactly untrue. Tony does trust the team. He trusts them to take him removing the suit at face value, for them not to pry any deeper. He trusts them keep seeing the lie he has built around himself. 

* * *

After that, Tony makes removing the suit around the team a more regular occurrence. Previously he had removed the suit when in his workshop, but now he keeps it off when Bruce is there. It’s not really so very strange for Tony to remain sat in his chair for an hour or more while him and Bruce talk. Or for Tony to conduct a whole conversation while laying on his back underneath one of his cars without surfacing.

More movie nights and game nights role around and Tony turns up early, gets out of his suit and takes up his place before they arrive. After the first few times, the team get bolder. It becomes not uncommon for Steve to take the other end of Tony’s couch. At first he keeps a distance between them but one evening, when Tony is at full stretch, he asks, “Move your feet, Stark.”

Tony just grins, expecting Steve to take another seat. He yelps and flails gracelessly when Steve simply grabs his ankles, lifts his feet, slides into the seat and lets Tony’s feet rest in his lap.

“What are you doing?” Tony squawks, indignant and more than slightly alarmed at this new turn.

“If you don’t like it, you could always move up,” Steve suggests, smirking. Whoever says Steve Rogers is innocent, is incapable of having a joke at other people’s expense, has never spent more than five minutes with him, clearly.

_I’d move if I could_ , Tony would like to say. He would also like to kick Steve in the stomach. Just a little bit. It is odd that it has been years since Tony had that ability, and yet it still comes to him now, still the command goes to his leg without any hope of it ever reaching its target.

Tony doesn’t like anyone touching his legs, doesn’t even touch them himself if he can help it. He doesn’t like being pulled around and positioned. But he can’t do anything about it. He has to put up with it.

His entire body is rigid with unease (and fear, if he’s being honest) to begin with but after a few minutes he eases up and, even when he glances down to see Steve is now resting one hand on Tony’s bare foot, he finds he can tolerate it. It’s not so bad, really. He hasn’t been this close to anyone in... a long time.

Of course, once Steve has opened that particular door, no one can seem to leave it alone. Tony’s skin doesn’t burn on contact when Steve puts his patriotic hands on it, so everyone else must be okay too. The team are surprisingly tactile with each other. Maybe it comes with the territory; once you’ve fought off alien invaders and saved each other’s lives on battlefields, you get a little grabby with each other. When Thor is around, he is forever giving bone rattling back-slaps or embraces strong enough to squeeze the air out of Tony. Clint isn’t exactly cuddly, but he can match Tony for the physical teasing and jabbing and good natured, friendly, never-going-to-go-anywhere flirting.

Bruce seems to radiate’ do not touch’ vibes a mile wide. It’s Tony who chooses not to read them. He pokes and prods at Bruce whenever the scientist is least expecting it, sometimes pulling him into hugs that make the other man go pink to the tips of his ears. Tony partly does it because he wants to see what response he will get, partly because he already knows he won’t get one besides Bruce blushing and trying to fend Tony off good naturedly. Now Bruce sometimes doesn’t fight him off straight away. If anyone deserves some positive human contact, it’s Bruce. So Tony lets that slide.

Natasha is something of a surprise. He expected her to have a strict personal space limit of a few feet around her, only admitting those she trusts implicitly (that Tony might be someone she trusts implicitly is out of the question, a notion so ridiculous Tony dismisses it before it can even fully form). The only female on the team certainly gives off the, not unfounded, impression that she will gut anyone who touches her without permission but when it’s on her own terms she seems more than happy. She doesn’t snuggle up with any of them like Clint – Tony’s pretty sure the arc reactor would fail on him if she did – but on several occasions when the archer isn’t around and Tony is, she’ll flop down onto the same couch as him. If Tony is sitting up, legs in the suit usually because it’s hard to hold himself upright without it, she leans against him, treating him more as a prop than a person. If he’s laying down, she doesn’t put Tony’s feet on her but she curls up small, like a cat, in the few small inches of cushion space left.

Sometimes she will go as far as to tuck her toes under his limp ankle, or rest her feet on Tony’s. Tony shudders then and lets everyone think it’s because Natasha is cold; if the knowledge of someone touching him where he can’t feel it is weird, then having a weight on him which he doesn’t acknowledge is bizarre and no more pleasant. But if he pushes her away then it’s both a massive tell and possibly shattering the closest thing to friendship he is ever likely to get with Natasha.

On one, memorable occasion, she stretches full length beside him on the couch, facing the opposite way, so her socks are up level with the arc reactor. It is memorable for the closeness and the way everyone else in the room stares, and because it is only afterwards that Tony realises he was one well placed kick away from probable heart failure and it never once felt like a threat.

All of this is Steve’s fault. Tony would hate him – if he had any idea that he’d done anything wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight sequences (and lengthy dialogue) are not my forte, so, apologies in advance!

This new trust thing has its downsides. Tony has to wait until after everyone else has left the room before he can get up. He has to limit his fluid intake, because he can’t exactly just excuse himself to go to the bathroom. He uses a catheter these days and if he leaves it too long, the consequences would be disastrous. He’d rather sit there, dry mouthed, throat parched, than let that happen. Tony works on ways of reattaching the suit that look more natural, but no one’s going to be convinced. He waits until he’s the only one in the room, sometimes feigning sleep so that the others don’t think it strange when he doesn’t follow.

The first time he does that, he hears the whispered conversation of the rest of the team, discussing whether or not to wake him.

“Leave him where he is,” Bruce hisses. “He struggles to sleep most of the time; at least he’s resting now.”

Traitor, Tony thinks. He’d told Bruce that much, but not because he thought it was going to be passed on to everyone else. He’s glad he didn’t tell Bruce more – about the nightmares and the panic attacks and the empty, gaping loneliness on the nights when he can’t sleep, can’t lie in the dark without wanting to scream. Still, it settles the discussion and the rest of the team leave. Someone pauses on the way out and pulls Tony’s blanket up to his shoulders. Tony stirs then, because don’t most people stir when someone puts a blanket over them? He’s seen that in movies, right?

Whoever it is just shushes him, waits until he settles, and then leaves.

Tony waits until everything is silent, then counts to fifty twice before opening his eyes and asking JARVIS to check everyone is gone.

* * *

The Avengers gig hasn’t been going that long, maybe six months at most, and there haven’t been that many call outs that require a full band of superheroes. Even so, Tony is pretty sure this battle must rank up with some of the weirdest on record. They’re fighting in the middle of a road, hemmed in by a sheer cliff face on one side and the ground sloping sharply downwards on the other side. Tony is glad that at least the traffic has stopped, and that most of those people who had been in the cars have managed to run to safety. Because they’re fighting-

“Dragons! Actual, fucking dragons.”

“They’re not dragons,” Thor’s voice filters to him via the suit’s comms link. “They’re alien life forms. I have encountered them before. Their home planet is-”

Whatever their home planet is, it is drowned out as one of the creatures flies past Tony in the opposite direction and roars, spitting fire as it does.

So yeah, flying, scaly, reptilian creatures, which breathe fire. They’re dragons as far as Tony’s concerned. He turns sharply in mid-air and takes off in pursuit of the latest one, firing as he goes. He catches the beast’s side and it roars again, writhing in the air, so Tony takes aim and fires again, at its head this time. The blast finds its target and the Not-Dragon drops like a stone.

“Look out below!”  Tony calls. Then, seeing the green form of the Hulk on the road below, “Hey, big guy, catch!”

He fires his repulsors at the Not-Dragon, changing its descent path right into the Hulk’s waiting arms. Hulk roars, catches the creature by the tail and uses it as a scaly baton to take down two more. Tony laughs. The noise is lost inside the suit, but Hulk looks up at him as he zips past and grins. Tony wants to take a picture of the Hulk grinning like that. He’ll print it off and use it to paper the walls in Bruce’s lab the next time he starts to think of the Hulk as nothing but a destructive beast.

Tony circles higher, trying to get a full view of the battle unfolding below. Hulk and Thor are ridiculously overpowered when they fight together. Tony watches as Hulk throws his Not-Dragon to Thor, who uses his hammer to hit it away like a baseball, straight into another incoming beast. Both creatures sail away and out of sight down the bank as nothing more than a ball of scales and claws and one last burst of fire. Sunlight flashes off of Cap’s shield a little to their left and as Tony flies that way he sees Clint, perched on top of a truck, rapid firing arrows at just about anything that flies.

“I think you just took out a pigeon, Barton,” Tony shouts as he passes.

“It had already gotten cooked by a dragon. I was just putting it out if its misery.”

“I keep telling you. They are not dragons,” Thor calls back, not even sounding out of breath.

“I don’t care what they are,” Clint replies, notching another arrow and firing with barely a glance in the direction of the incoming Not-Dragon. It goes down with just one hit. “What I want to know is, why are there so many?”

“I do not know,” Thor admits. “They’re mostly solitary creatures.”

“Solitary?” Tony yelps. “I’ve taken out at least seven.”

“Nine over here.”

“Bite me, Barton.”

There’s a sharp metallic clang as Steve’s shield rebounds, a second before he says, equally sharply, “Cut the chatter, guys. Let’s deal with taking these things out. We can figure out why they’re here later. Hawkeye, incoming on your left.”

“Oh crap,” groans Clint, which isn’t exactly reassuring. Tony turns just in time to see what is quite possibly the biggest, and definitely the dumbest and least coordinated, Not-Dragon yet barrel straight into the truck Clint is perched on. The alien and the truck skid across the road and into the cliff. For a second, Tony thinks his heart stops as he swoops in lower. Just in time to see Clint’s dark-clad figure pulling up out of a perfect roll a foot or so from where the vehicle had previously been parked. Damn circus kid.

“Still alive!” Clint calls, just in case anyone is in doubt. Hulk roars – either a greeting or a warning – and charges over to help his ‘shooty bird’ deal with the reptile now pulling itself out of the wreck of the truck.

This, Tony thinks as he lets himself land for a moment, is what it feels like to be part of something. Part of a team. Part of people who care about each other. People who care about _him_. He could get used to this.

It’s a ridiculously sentimental notion, one which Tony will be sure to have surgically removed if at all possible.

Then it suddenly occurs to Tony that there is one member of this team he hasn’t seen in a while. One person he hasn’t heard over the comms or seen on the battlefield.

“Anyone seen Natasha?” he asks, trying to make it sound casual, like he’s just come out of the workshop and is looking to show the super spy the latest update to her gear. No answer from the others.

“Black Widow, check in,” calls Steve. Still nothing. “Widow, report.”

A few more dreadful seconds tick past before Natasha’s voice crackles into life. “I’m fine,” she says, voice clipped and urgent. “But we’ve got civilians. I could use some back up.”

“Where are you?” Which is a stupid question. They’re all on a road. No big landmarks to aim for. But even as Steve asks it, a red flare goes up from further down the road, way out past most of the fighting.  “Iron Man-”

“On it.” Tony takes off before Steve can finish his order. He still likes to give the occasional impression that he doesn’t follow them. He flies higher, in the direction of the signal. He circles until he spots Natasha, easily visible because of her hair, as vibrant as any flare. That and the fact that she’s standing in front of a bright yellow school bus and is firing shot after shot into the hide of an injured alien reptile. It’s still crawling towards her, not breathing fire but taking a swipe at her with its claws, its tail. Tony cuts the suit’s power and lets himself plummet, dropping onto the alien’s back with enough force to hold it down while Natasha settles a final bullet between its eyes.  

“You okay?” Tony asks, as he climbs down to meet Natasha, who nods a greeting. She _is_ mostly okay. Still standing, and barely looking shaken. There is a cut across her forehead, blood trailing into her eye. Tony can’t tell if it’s just the contrast between the red, or the blood loss, but she looks paler than normal. Carefully, Tony raises a metal-clad hand to wipe the blood away but she gets there first, swiftly moping at her face with a sleeve and stepping out of Tony’s reach. She falters then, and smiles almost apologetically. Tony isn’t the only one who is getting used to being part of a bigger team.   

“Civilians,” Natasha says, quickly, no time for awkwardness or uncertainty. “We need to move fast.”

“Right. Where?” 

Natasha turns to look over one shoulder and Tony follows her gaze, right to the school bus. Small, scared faces are peering out of the windows. Children, too young and terrified to be awed at the fact that two superheroes are standing right outside their school bus.

“Fuck.”

“Language,” scolds Natasha, but Tony can tell her heart’s not in the joke.

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s the driver?”

Natasha shrugs. “Ran off when the first dragon reared its ugly head.”

Tony huffs out a laugh. “Real hero of the moment there, then.”

Natasha makes a soft agreeing ‘hm’ before shaking her head. “We don’t have time for this.”

“Right.” Tony fires up the suit and takes off to hover a foot or so off the ground as Natasha busies herself reloading her gun. “I’ll clear a path and then keep watch from the air as you lead them out. Shouldn’t be too much trouble, most of the reptiles are way over that wa—”

“Tony!”

For a second, Tony doesn’t know what’s hit him. Literally. He doesn’t feel the blow, but he feels the effect it has on him alright. He spins out, hitting the concrete and skidding to the edge of the road, only stopped from going over the edge by the crash barrier. Still doing its job.

Natasha fires off three more shots, taking care of the previously-thought-to-be-dead not-dragon and making a sure job of it this time. Tony groans and gets shakily to his feet, using the barrier for support as the smell of burnt metal reaches him inside the helmet. That’s not good. He twists round as far as he can and silently curses again. After New York, Tony fixed the next version of the suit so that he could still stand even if the power was cut, if nothing else. That’s pretty much the only reason he’s now on his feet. The alien’s claws are strong enough to rip through metal like paper, only missing skin by millimetres and pure luck. Wires spark and hiss, parts of metal flaking away as Tony sighs and begins stripping off the top half of the suit. It’s not so bad, really. The power is still mostly working. He just needs to reconnect it.  

“You okay?” It’s now Natasha’s turn to ask.

Tony raises his newly freed arms into the air and gives her a double thumbs up. “Peachy. Go check on the kids. I just need to patch the suit up.”

As Natasha slips inside the bus Tony just hears a call of, “Did you see that? It’s Iron Man and Black Widow. They’re fighting dragons and that one nearly got Iron Man but Black Widow shot it and...”

Tony chuckles to himself at that. If the kids have already recovered enough to find this cool, then they can’t be too bad. They’ll be talking about this for months. They’ll probably do a school report on the Time Iron Man Almost Got His Ass Fried and Black Widow Saved Him.

Turning his attention back to the partially destroyed suit, Tony weighs up the situation. He can fix this. The cut through the suit is clean, and he should be able to rewire it given enough time. He tries taking a step forwards, to reach a glove that came off during his tail spin and...yeah, not an option. He’s standing. He can move as much of his body as he ever can. But walking is out of the question for now. He’s restricted to his own arm’s stretch around him, trying not to over balance. Just perfect.

Still, he can deal with his. No need to panic just yet. 

“Iron Man. Widow. Report.” Tony can hear Steve’s voice coming from the speaker inside the helmet, now lying at his feet. He’s not sure how much of this Steve heard but it’s enough to waver the calm, controlled Captain America facade and make him sound just a little panicked. Tony fishes his back up ear piece out of his pocket and slips it in.

“We’re doing fine, Cap. There’s a bunch of children on a school bus but we’ve got it covered.” Tony glances up and catches sight of Natasha in the bus window. She’s holding a small dark haired girl on one hip and a pale boy with glasses is holding her other hand. Another child is clinging to her arm and Tony’s pretty sure he can see tiny arms around her waist as well. Tony has never seen anyone look more outside of their comfort zone. He grins. “Mommy’s taking care of things.”

Through the window, Natasha’s attempt at caring and nurturing turns to a glare as she zeros in on Tony through the glass. “Call me ‘Mommy’ again, Stark. I dare you.”

Tony laughs again and he thinks he hears Clint’s laugh echo back at him through the earpiece.

“Is that a spider I can hear getting in touch with her maternal side?” the archer asks, confident in the knowledge that he is a safe distance away.

“Do spiders not eat their young?” asks Thor, all innocent curiosity.

It’s a blow so far out of left field that even Steve snorts with laughter although he tries to muffle it.

Natasha sighs, long and hard. “I know where you all sleep.”

In the background, Tony can hear the same eager voice as before asking, “Who are you talking to? Is that Captain America? Are we going to meet him too? That’s awesome!”

Sounds like the Avengers had got a new biggest, littlest fan. Tony goes back to his previous job of patching up the suit. He makes sure the power is completely off before using his thumb nail to strip back a wire, bending another into shape with his teeth.

“Stay where you are, you two. Myself and Hawkeye are moving to your location.”

Tony spits the second wire into his hand and wraps it together with the first. “No need. I’ll have the suit up and flying again in a few minutes.” 

“The suit’s grounded?” Yeah, that’s definite panic in Steve’s voice now.

“Like I said, I’ll have it working again soon. _I’m_ fine by the way.” 

“We’re on our way.”

Oh great, just what Tony needs right now. More people to potentially see him struggling to fix the suit in a few square feet of space, without taking a single step in any direction.

“Shouldn’t you be keeping the fight back over that way? And what happened to no chatter on comms during battle?”

“The battle’s just about over. We’re heading to you, and Hulk and Thor are more than capable of taking care of any stragglers.”

Tony rolls his eyes for no one to see. No sense in arguing with Steve when he gets on any mission he’s put into his own head. Right now, Tony just needs to concentrate on fixing the suit. He’s not going to give Cap any chances to carry him off the field like a swooning bride.

“If the battle’s over, why not just take off the suit?” Natasha suggests. “Scrap it. It’s not like it’s going to see another fight through again.”

“Tasha’s got a point,” says Clint. “Aren’t you nearly done with the next model anyway?”

“Yeah,” responds Tony, as calmly as he can. “But I’m not leaving this little lady for dead. Just a little love and care and I’ll have her moving again.” Or at least, Tony hopes that’s true.

“It’s really creepy when you personify the suits, you know?”

“Like you don’t talk to your bow and call it ‘her’, Clint.”

“Oh shut up, Tasha. You’re meant to be on my side. Go back to your babysitting.”

Natasha doesn’t rise to the bait. Tony watches through the window as she disconnects herself form the comms, so that she can get back to comforting the children currently surrounding her in privacy. Tony gets back to fixing up the suit.

He’s just thinking that A) it shouldn’t be too long before the suit’s back online and B) Steve and Clint will be here soon and he sure hopes A is quicker than B when Thor cuts through the silence.

“Doctor Banner’s counterpart and I have been examining one of the creatures.”

“Define examining? With ‘Doctor Banner’ in his current state?” Tony reconnects the knot of wires he’s working on and hears a promising whirr from inside the suit. 

“That is not important.”

“Were you playing Demigod/Rage Monster baseball again?” inquires Clint, lightly. Then, “I can see the school bus over there, Cap. Nearly there, guys.”

“It is not important!” Thor insists. It is not normal for him to sound so hurried. “What is important is our discovery. I know now why there were so many of them. And why they were defeated so easily.”

“Which is?” Steve prompts. Tony wonders if he is the only one who can feel dread pooling in his stomach (although some of that may be abdominal muscle strain from being held standing for so long).

“They are juveniles. Hatchlings, in fact.”

“So?” If there is a point here, Tony feels like he might be missing it. “So we just murdered a nest of babies. They were still attacking a whole highway of traffic before we got here. It’s not like we had an option.”

When Thor speaks again it is with the slow, measured speech usually reserved for people who think he is stupid, and attempt to explain concepts such as Netflix to him.

“They are hatchlings and the young of this species stay with their mother until adulthood.”

“So...?” It is without a doubt dread that Tony can feel now.

“So their mother would not have abandoned them. And if she were dead her body would surely have been noticed. So... It is probable that she is still nearby. And we just killed her babies.”

“Oh f-”

Tony’s curse is lost. With all the bad timing of a crappy horror movie, a long, ground shaking roar splits the air. Tony looks up in time to see a Not-Dragon the size of a block of houses rising from the cliff top. Looks like Mommy’s awake.

Steve is shouting commands but Tony doesn’t hear. He shoves one gauntlet on, ducking and bending as much as he can to snatch up key parts of the suit and trying to force them back together. Nearly there. The power cell in his left leg is connected, more or less, and in a few seconds so will the right be.

“Tony!” Natasha is out of the bus and readying her weapons. “Abandon the suit and help me get the kids out of here.”

“I can’t help cover you without the suit.”

“Yes you can. You know how to shoot a gun, Stark.” Natasha detaches a gun from her hip and throws it in his direction. It lands a good few feet out of his reach.

“Just two more minutes, Nat.”

Another roar, loud enough to set off several car alarms, adding to the chaos. This time it is accompanied by a jet of fire which carves a path of flames to Tony’s right. He chances a glance over and can see a glimpse of Steve and Clint, unhurt but very much cut off from him and Natasha.

“We don’t have two minutes,” urges Natasha. She’s not panicking, it wouldn’t be in her nature to. But she is most definitely fighting back anger, not necessarily directed at the alien momma bearing down on them. “Come _on_. You can drive the bus out while I keep us covered.

Tony would laugh at that idea, if the situation wasn’t so dire. From above him comes a high pitched screech. Tony looks up to see the mother not-dragon circling. She seems to have spotted the baby he and Natasha were dealing with previously. She dips down and back up, trying to get her baby to rise with her. When it fails to, she screeches again, long, blood curdling, undeniably mournful. There is something almost heartbreaking about it.

But there is little time for feeling sorry for the creature. She is scanning the ground, looking for her baby’s killer. The bright yellow school bus, along with the half-metal clad man, light from the flames glinting off his armour, seem like the best, closest targets. She changes path, and begins her all too short flight towards Tony.

“Stark, move!” Steve barks.

Tony would if he could but the suit’s still powering up, not fully functioning. He can’t move. Can’t reach the gun Natasha threw to him. Can’t do anything to stop the fact that he is about to be killed by a reject from Game of Thrones.

“Stark, leave the suit and move! I can’t cover you and them.” Tony looks towards the bus and Natasha is framed against the doorway, looking from the kids to Tony as though she can’t decide which to protect. As though there’s even any question in that. She’ll stay where he is and he’ll be burnt in his boots and he wouldn’t ask her to change that.

The mother not-dragon sucks in a monstrous lungful of air which Tony can only imagine precedes the spitting of a fireball more than capable of taking out one Iron Man. From his side there is a nearly sub human yell of fury and, a second later, Natasha is barrelling into his side.

Her weight, slight though it is, is enough to tip them both off balance, over the crash barrier and down the slope. Tony can feel heated air pass over them but he can no longer tell which way is up and which is down as they roll over and over. Something sharp cuts his side, something else smacks off of his face and he just has the sense to raise his arms and try to shield Natasha’s head as they continue their barrel roll.

They reach the bottom of the bank with a thud. Tony is winded, cut and bruised but alive. And still with enough of his senses to realise the irony of the fact that their crash landing has reconnected what was loose inside the metalwork encasing him. The suit’s power is back online.

“Stark?” Natasha landed on top of him and she is now looking down at him, her skin paler than it was before, her head wound reopened and bleeding worse than ever. Her eyes are wide, a slight tremble to her hands on his shoulders. “Tony?”

Tony heaves himself upright again, the suit helping him get into a seated position, Natasha now in his lap.

“Hey, looks like all I needed was those few extra seconds after all,” he declares. “Suit’s back online.”

“Suit’s back online?” Natasha murmurs.

“Apparently so.”

“You could have taken it off. You could have left it and ran.”

He couldn’t, but he’s not about to tell her that.

“I had to have you throw your body on me at some point.”

Tony deserves the punch he gets to his jaw. The second, to his gut, might not be required.

“If a single one of those kids is dead, Stark, I’m going to feed you to that dragon myself.”

Tony clutches his stomach as he watches Natasha scramble back up the bank without a backwards glance. He almost wishes the suit wasn’t working again, so that he could just lie here for a few hours.

* * *

None of the children is so much as singed. The not-dragon had been more interested in Tony and Natasha and, a second or two after they disappeared over the edge of the road, Thor arrived. Not long after that, and several hours later than would have been preferable, so did SHIELD, with enough tranquilizers to take out a fleet of Hulks. They manage to subdue the creature without killing it, Steve delivers the kids to their parent’s waiting arms, Clint stays with Bruce while he transforms back, and Natasha gets checked over by SHEILD medical.

Tony gets hauled into a meeting with Fury and Steve. Meeting might not be the right word for it. More like a school boy getting yelled at by his principal and his guardian. A particularly murderous principal and a particularly infuriated guardian. He suspects it’s only due to his help in capturing the alien, once he made it back to the road, and his previous help in dealing with the ‘hatchlings’ that he is not being thrown off the team.

That and, he owns the tower. Home to all of the avengers. They’ll want him around for that if nothing else.               

It’s after more than half an hour that Steve thinks to say, “You’re bleeding, Stark.”

Tony is more than bleeding. He has at least one cracked rib, a probable concussion and possibly a fractured ankle. It’s hard to tell when you can’t feel these things. He only knows because JARVIS has picked it up in his readings from the suit, and informed Tony via a text on his phone.

“I’m fine,” Tony says, dabbing at a cut near his eye socket which might be Natasha’s doing. He licks at his split lip.

“Then go home.”

So Tony goes.

 

* * *

He decides it would be best for everyone if he sticks to himself for a while. He retreats to his workshop as soon as he gets to the tower, has JARVIS monitor his concussion and keeps his left leg encased in the suit to splint it. He allows himself a few hours broken sleep on the couch and then gets to work on the next model for the suit. He keeps this up for days. JARVIS plays music to drown out his thoughts and keeps the doors sealed. The bots keep bringing him smoothies, which he takes a few sips of to placate them, before pushing the glass aside.  

On the afternoon of the third day (or possibly the fourth, Tony’s not sure) Bruce asks to be let in to the workshop and Tony lets him. He’s closest to Bruce. He hopes that means he will be the least pissed at Tony’s actions.

“Hey, Big Guy,” he says. He doesn’t get up from his work. Mostly because he can’t but also he’s at a really vital stage of suit assembly.

“Hey yourself.” Bruce drags up a chair and seats himself beside Tony, watching him work. They don’t speak, waiting each other out to see who will break first. Bruce slides on an insulated glove and holds down part of the circuit while Tony solders it into place.

“It’s movie night tonight,” Bruce says, eventually. “We wondered if you were coming.”

“Is movie night still a thing, then?”

“Of course it is. You messed up, Tony. That doesn’t mean we’re not a team anymore.”

“Really?”     

“Yes. We’re not children, Tony.”

Tony puts the soldering iron down and tries on the gauntlet he’s been working on. Bruce fishes a piece of scrap paper off of the floor, screws it into a ball and throws it into the air. Tony fires at it and it catches fire, disintegrating to ashes before it hits the floor. Dummy is on hand with his fire extinguisher and Bruce and Tony watch him empty it whilst fighting not to laugh a little. It wouldn’t do to hurt the bot’s feelings.

The air gets difficult to breathe with all the foam being squirted around, so JARVIS turns on the air filtration system. For a while they just sit, Tony going over readouts from the suit, Bruce watching him.

“No one’s that mad at you,” says Bruce, when the filter clicks off and they’re once again in relative quiet.

“Including Natasha?”

Bruce sighs. “She’s pissed off, yes. But she’ll get over it. She’s a big girl.”

“She’s a big girl who sleeps with knives under her pillow. Excuse me for wanting to keep clear a little while she’s ‘pissed off’.”

“Some people can resolve conflict without resorting to violence.”

“Is Black Widow one of them?”

Bruce sighs again, takes off his glasses and cleans them on his shirt. It means he’s nervous. That this conversation isn’t going the way he wanted it to. Tony feels worse, if possible, than he did before. He’s not trying to upset people.

“How is she?” he asks, eventually.

“Hard to tell with Nat,” says Bruce, with a shrug. “She’s used to it being all about her mission, all about focussing on the next goal and the next, and she’s good at it. You made her make a moral choice she’s not comfortable with. You made her pick her friends over her duty.”

“I didn’t for one second expect her to make that choice,” Tony snaps. Bruce doesn’t snap back.

“She knows that too. I think that upsets her nearly as much. That you might think she doesn’t care. She’s not... used to friendship. Or people in general. ” Bruce nudges Tony’s shoulder. “Remind you of anyone?”

Tony smiles, just a little. “If it’s all the same to you,” he says, removing the gauntlet again. “I think I’ll skip movie night. Just this once.”

Bruce shrugs once more and gets up. He pats Dummy on the head as he walks to the door and the bot chirrups happily. “Suit yourself. You should stop by my lab at some point. I’ve got the initial analysis on the creature back and I’d like your opinion on it before Thor takes her back to... wherever it is she’s from.”

“Ooh, stop by your lab so we can analyse alien biology? You’ve got to stop talking dirty, Doctor Banner.”

“If you’re flirting, I think you’ll be fine,” says Bruce, with what could almost be a smirk. “And if talking dirty is what it takes to get you back to normal, I’ll bear that in mind.” He’s gone before Tony can think of a response suitable to that.

* * *

 

The next afternoon, Pepper shows up. She’s in town on business, anyway, so it’s not entirely unexpected.

“JARVIS tells me you have a broken ankle that you’re not treating,” she says, which isn’t the best hello she’s ever given Tony.

“Freaking electronic tattletale,” Tony grumbles.

“My apologies, Sir. But it is my primary function to take care of you and-”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not going to die from a _fractured_ bone that I can’t even feel.”

Pepper smacks the side of Tony’s head – not the still bruised side which Natasha previously hit – and then kisses him on the forehead. Which is more than a little weird. They’ve not really been in the ‘forehead kissing’ stage for a while.

“Let me see,” she says, softly.

Grumbling still, Tony gets up and walks over to the couch. It’s without his normal grace; the suit keeps his left leg more rigid than normal. Pepper kicks off her heels and hikes up her skirt a little so that she can kneel at Tony’s feet. Tony bites the inside of his cheek to stop the myriad of comments he could currently make about their current position. He swallows them all back down. He doesn’t want Pepper to leave, so soon after she just got here. So Tony says nothing while Pepper activates the release for the left boot and rests his foot in her lap. She twists it one way and then the other, runs her hands around the ankle. Tony looks away, feeling sick.

“Can you stop?” he asks after a while.

“I already have.”

Tony’s face colours with embarrassment as he turns back to Pepper. She’s moved his foot off of her lap and is looking up at him with a frown. It’s been a while since Tony was this close to her. She’s wearing a new shade of lipstick which suits her very much, and the same perfume as always. Tony has a standing order with the company, a new bottle delivered to Pepper’s desk every few months. Tony’s hands itch with the urge to reach out and draw her closer to him.

“Is it broken?” he says to cover the awkwardness of the moment.

“Hard to say.” Tony offers her his hands and she takes them help herself to her feet. “You really need an x-ray.”

Tony doesn’t have an x-ray machine down here, but he does have the prototype for a new scanner which analyses flesh, muscle and bone. He’d been working on it with Bruce.

While they wait for JARVIS to finish checking over the images, Pepper sits next to him on the couch.

“I spoke to Steve.”

“I didn’t realise you two were on first name terms. He still calls you Miss Potts.”

“That’s because he’s polite.” Tony snorts. Pepper ploughs on regardless. “He told me what happened.”

“Oh great.”

“I only got his version of it. I’d like to hear yours.”

 Tony doesn’t want to give his version of events. He’s fairly certain Pepper can already guess it for herself. But he also doesn’t want to risk her not figuring it out. He doesn’t want her to believe he is as selfish and reckless as everyone else suspects.

“The suit was broken. I couldn’t move.”

“Oh, Tony...” Pepper’s hand flutters in mid air before she rests it on the back of his neck and begins rubbing in small circles. Tony’s been aching all over since he locked himself in here – part lingering from the battle, part from hours spent bent over his work – and her cool hand is already working miracles on his tense muscles.

“I had it under control. I just needed a little longer and I’d have had it fixed.” Tony can feel himself getting wound up and frustrated at the unfairness of the whole situation.

“But you didn’t have a little longer,” she soothes. “Tony, if they knew, if they had any idea—”

“No!” Tony knocks her hand away from his neck. If he could, he would stand up too, to put more distances between them. “I’m not telling them, Pep. Don’t even suggest it.”

“But you save the world together. They’re your team mates...”

“And if I told them, how high do you think my chances of staying on the team are? Do you think I want to get benched? Have to sit back and watch as they go running off? Fuck, have to sign my suit over to SHIELD so that they can find someone else to pilot it?”

“No one is saying any of those things will happen.”

“I’m not having this conversation. I thought you understood that.”

“I will never understand some things about you, Tony Stark.” But she isn’t really saying it like she’s mad at him. More like she’s saddened by him. Which is perfect; he doesn’t see Pepper in weeks and now she’s been here less than an hour and he’s got her near tears.

“I have the information from the scan ready, Sir,” says JARVIS. Tony smiles weakly. His AI’s timing is perfect.   

“Go ahead, JARVIS,” says Pepper, before Tony can ask her to leave, or ask JARVIS to send it to his tablet.

“I am afraid Sir has a hairline fracture to his left ankle.” A 3-D holographic image of Tony’s leg is projected in front of them. Tony winces and looks down at his hands. The most gruesome of medical pictures would not have bothered Tony. But this, his own flesh and muscle and nerves that no longer do his bidding, is too much.

“You can see the damage here. Given the fall Sir had, and the force of the impact, I think we should be grateful it is not more serious.”

Tony laughs hollowly. Pepper rests one hand on top of his and squeezes lightly to quieten him.

“What would be the best treatment, JARVIS?” she asks.

“Normally one would probably be looking at a cast for the effected limb.”

“Not a chance,” says Tony, fiercely. He looks up and swipes one hand to dismiss the scan’s display. “I can’t fit a cast under the suit. So that’s out.”

“Tony...” Pepper starts. Tony cuts her off with a glare.

“I can’t take it off, Pepper. You know that.”

“You could use a wheelchair. Just for a bit, until your ankle has healed. No one would know it was for anything other than that.” She’s talking quickly, trying to get it all out before Tony can interrupt her again, but he’s already stopped listening.

“No. I am not going into a _wheelchair_.” He spits the word out like poison.

“But no one would know.”

“Yeah, you already said that part. The answer’s still no.” Tony cannot explain, doesn’t even attempt to. She will never understand the anger, the disgust that fills him with that notion. And not just a small amount of fear. All this would be for nothing. He is afraid, more than he ever would admit, that if he went into a wheelchair, he wouldn’t be coming out again. “Next option, JARVIS.”

“Normally I would say there is no other option. As it stands, I would say that the suit has already been doing a partial job of holding the joint steady while it mends. And given the amount of time Sir has spent working at his lab bench, he is also resting it.”

“This is why I like you, J.”

“I thought you liked me because you built me, Sir.”

“I can like you for two reasons.”

“I think we’re getting away from the point here,” Pepper cuts in smoothly. She is too used to Tony’s back and forth with his own creation. She knows not to let them get into a stride with it. “Is there nothing else that can be done?”

“I would recommend some form of pain killer for Sir’s concussion, and his fractured ribs.”

“Tattletale,” Tony mumbles again.

“I’ll go fetch a prescription. And food.” Pepper leaves no room for argument. She bends to slip her shoes back on as Tony does the same with the suit. When she gets up, Pepper hesitates, looking Tony over again, assessing him. “Will you be okay?" 

“For the time it takes you to fetch lunch? Yeah, I think I can manage not to burn down the tower.” Suit back on, Tony stands. In her heels, Pepper is still more or less the same height as him. He doesn’t like the prolonged eye contact, so he robotically limps over to the workbench, the suit putting as little pressure on his left leg as possible.  

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I meant with the rest of the team?  With Natasha?”

Tony groans and scrubs at his face with his hands. He was hoping to avoid this. “I messed up, I know.  I’ll make it up to her. I should get her something. I’d get shoes if it was you but I don’t think that would go down too well. What do women like these days?”

“We like honesty, Tony.”

But that is one thing Tony can never give Natasha.

* * *

 

In the end, he gives does give her shoes. Supple leather, gold buckles, achingly high heels that he’s pretty sure only her and Pepper can manage to walk in.

He presents them to her the next game night. It’s the first time he’s been up to the shared floors and when he walks into the room, there is a shift in tension. Bruce sits up a little straighter, Steve stiffens in his chair. Thor looks between Natasha and Tony as though he doesn’t know if he should step in or not. Tony ignores them all and goes straight to Natasha and presents her with the shoes.

She warms up to him quite a bit when he explains that he made the shoes himself, and shows her how the buckles can come off to be used to pick locks, and how the heels detach to reveal long retractable blades. He coated the knives in the same gold effect as the buckles. She warms up to him even more when she sees how thoroughly he beats Clint at Mario Kart.

And then, she goes on a mission for SHIELD and gets captured. Fury makes the absolute dickbag move of waiting until she’s been missing for five days before telling them. It doesn’t matter that she probably had things covered, that they were waiting for her to get the info they needed and then fight her way out of there. Clint is so mad he looks like he might be ready to bury an arrow in his boss. Steve and Tony steer him away and just hope they can keep him pointing at the bad guys, not people who are – mostly – on their side.

Turns out, Natasha did have it covered. Her captors had stripped her down to her underwear and those shoes. (Presumably because she looked good in them, and because the shoes looked so wildly impractical they thought they’d only hinder her escape.) As soon as they left her alone for a second, six days after capture, Natasha had the locks of the handcuffs picked and the blades out.

The team find her like that, wearing the sandals the shoes become without their heels, in her underwear. Blood drenches her arms like long gloves as she sinks a blade into the stomach of her last remaining captor just as they break the door down. 

* * *

 

Natasha stays in medical for over a week. Mostly, she’s being treated for dehydration and lack of proper food, because supplies were limited on the mission as it was and then no one saw the sense in wasting too much food or water on the prisoner.

She is a surprisingly well behaved patient. She doesn’t even make one escape attempt, not even when Clint leaves her the blueprint for the air ducts. He throws up his arms and declares she is both boring, and a lost cause. Then he strokes her hair and mumbles something the rest of the team don’t catch.

The third time Tony visits with the team, he waits until they all leave to get coffee before producing Phil The Bunny from his laptop bag. Natasha eyes him warily.

“I’m not a child, Tony,” she protests. “I don’t need him to sleep.”

“Never said you did. Just thought he might make things a little more homey, seeing as you’re probably in here for the long haul.”

“Seven days is hardly the long haul. Newbie.”

Tony continues to hold the toy out to her. She looks to the door before snatching it out of Tony’s grasp and shoving it out of sight beneath the covers.

“I see what you mean,” she says, with a roll of her eyes. “This is much better.” Then she pulls him close so suddenly that he nearly topples over in the suit, and kisses his cheek. It is far weirder and more unexpected than Pepper’s forehead kiss.

Natasha thanks Tony for the shoes, and for the shirt he gave her when they found her, and for the bunny. She can’t remain angry at him. Especially as he is the only one, other than Clint, to not look at her just a little bit differently now.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it goes without saying that Tony's thoughts regarding wheelchairs, and his own disability for that matter, are not my thoughts.  
> If you're enjoying this fic, comments and kudos get me through. And thank you for sticking around and waiting a bit longer for this chapter.


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